MONTHLY CHALLENGE|TRAVEL|WRITING|CREATIVE WRITING
Yuletide-driven Spiritual Moments
In a village in the Cotswolds, the holiday season takes on a new meaning
For many years I ran a German club at the last primary school I worked at. Early December would find the members and me working hard on Stille Nacht, Franz Xaver Gruber’s 1818 creation. I would normally get the children to sing it at their end-of-the-term assembly. Only the first verse, though. Twice. One year we even secured musical accompaniment on the keyboard by a visiting music teacher who happened to be on site at the time.
It was that first verse that kept coming back to me on the morning of Christmas Eve. Especially the line that goes, “Alles schläft; einsam wacht”. We were in Winchcombe, a village in Gloucestershire. I pulled my walking boots on and went out to get the paper.
It had rained overnight. The evidence was in the myriad puddles that reflected a still-bright quarter moon. The street lamps were still on and bar the occasional runner or dog walker, the main thoroughfare was deserted.
Early it may have been, but the butcher was already busying himself with chops, ribs, and shoulder cuts. I poked my head in and like Billy Joel’s John in the New Yorker’s timeless Piano Man, I was “quick with a joke”. How many last-minute, desperate, turkey-chasing shoppers was he expecting, I asked. A fair few, he answered, with a knowing smile that told me he’d seen it all and then some more.
Winchcombe has claimed a piece of my heart. I have been a regular visitor since the summer of 2020 after the UK’s first lockdown ended. My partner’s parents live in the village and their hospitality knows no bounds. I’ve always felt at home at theirs. This adds to a sense of spiritual connection to the place. I would not be exaggerating if I said that every time I go I peel off yet another layer and discover something new.
At the post office I was told that except for a couple of dailies (The Sun, and The Daily Mail) they’d stopped stocking newspapers. I knew where to go next, though. There was a newsagent just around the corner, run by a lovely, friendly woman who always engaged her customers in conversation.
Before I made my way to her shop, I stopped over at The George. This is a Grade II listed former pilgrims’ hostel at whose architecture I’ve always marvelled. By now a nascent sun was struggling to come out. I ventured into the courtyard and breathed in the same air that countless other travellers must have inhaled throughout the centuries. I, then, turned around, came back out and proceeded to get my newspaper.
The day was bookended with another walk almost at dusk, although of a more rural nature. This time we schlepped towards Belas Knap, but without reaching the ancient burial chamber. Every time the wind blew we thought there was a vehicle approaching from behind. But, no, it was Nature telling us that “Alles schläft; einsam wacht”.
I want to big up my fellow spiritual ‘Trotters, Sondra Singer - Still Vital and Anna Jim Lequenne. Check out their stuff below.